


Your Warmth, The Love of It

by panicswitch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Getting Back Together, Healing, Kid Fic, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicswitch/pseuds/panicswitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s her name?”</p>
<p>“Nadia.” Bucky steals an almost shy glance at Steve and ducks his head. “It means ‘hope’.”</p>
<p>(Or: Steve and Bucky find themselves, find each other, and raise Bucky's daughter)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silverdell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [florahart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/gifts).



> Hi there! This is my gift for the avengersfest and I hope my lovely recipient enjoys it. <33

Time is precious.

He keeps track of it, carefully and almost obsessively. Before, time was valued because he had so little of it. A certain amount (hours, days, weeks) allotted for each mission. He was given a strict schedule and told not to deviate. He obeyed. Now, he has seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, _years_ of his own. No agenda. Nothing.

He's free.

On April 3, 2014, he recognizes the man on the bridge. On the 4th he saves that man, pulls him from the river (why?). He spends a week and four days actively avoiding his handler. By the 15th he realizes his handler is not trailing him. He approaches a rendezvous point out of—curiosity? stupidity?—but the point is empty. He's alone. The rest of the month is spent in DC and he becomes braver. He acquires plain clothes in order to go out during the day. He visits the library, where he studies texts and scours the internet. He spends hours at the Smithsonian. He shares a face with a man. He wants to know why. By mid-May he understands he is James Buchanan Barnes, best friend of Captain America (the man on the bridge) ( _"You're my friend." "You're my mission."_ ) Memories return in pieces.

He extracts a plan to right the wrongs committed against him and finds that Steve Rogers (Captain America, the man on the bridge) is on a similar mission. He remains several steps ahead of Steve (and Sam—the man with the wings). They travel from HYDRA base to HYDRA base. Those that are abandoned are burned to the ground, those that are occupied—well, those are also burned. He becomes more aware. Sharper, with an intricate thread of memories padding his mind.

On the 10th of January, 2015, he enters an abandoned HYDRA facility just outside Moscow.

Everything changes.

*

It's the 10th of September, 2015, when Steve receives a text.

From: +17155592388  
 _Would you like to visit? There's something you should see._

It's Bucky. He can feel it.

Steve had caught glimpses of Bucky while they'd trekked across the continent (a flicker of movement out a window, the sweeping pass of a shadow). Piece by piece they'd taken HYDRA apart, and Bucky had remained ahead—just out of reach. Sam had told Steve to wait. Give him space, time. In London there was an explosion. Steve had been on the ground, bleeding and rapidly healing but not quickly enough. A HYDRA operative stepped over him, weapon trained, and Steve had closed his eyes. The op had fallen to the ground. Dead, by a single bullet between the eyes. ( _"Thanks?"_ Steve had questioned when Sam had come running over. _"As much as I'd like to claim responsibility for that wicked move—sorry. Not me."_ Sam had helped Steve to his feet and simultaneously they'd cast a glance towards the shadowy rafters.)

After that, waiting became easier.

He and Sam had carried on. They'd finished what had been started with HYDRA, and went home. He'd gotten a new apartment. He’d helped save the world yet again. He'd continued to wait.

And this text—this is it. He can feel it. It's what he's been waiting _for_.

Steve replies immediately and receives an address. He books the first flight out. Packs his bags and gives his apartment a once over. The space is still relatively bare. He'd selected furniture from a catalog and bought a few things for himself like DVDs and books, but honestly—one concept he's yet to warm to is excess. Most of what's important to him can still be packed in a single bag. He's got that bag slung over his shoulder now and before he leaves, he fires off a couple of emails, leaves a note on the table with the same information, and makes a mental reminder to text Sam tomorrow and tell him not to worry.

He secures his apartment, and as he heads out the door there's a tightness in his chest—a mix of anxiety and excitement. He isn't sure what waits for him at his destination, but that's okay.

For the first time since 1945, he feels alive.

*

Out front of the arrivals area at the Minneapolis airport, he shifts his pickup into park. It's late. Past ten and security can't be bothered to move people along. Guards in bright jackets wander up and down the sidewalks and in the cab, he fidgets a little. Reties his hair and adjusts his gloves. Two minutes later, he sees Steve. He has one bag and a bright smile.

Bucky smiles back.

*

The girl is curled on her side, tucked beneath a pink comforter.

Her dark hair falls in soft curls to her shoulders and her left hand has loosened its grip on a teddy bear. A Captain America bear, Steve notices as his heart tugs a little. Her small chest rises and falls with every breath she draws. “She’s beautiful,” whispers Steve. She’s the most beautiful child he’s ever laid eyes on and beside him, Bucky cracks half a smile. He’s got his flesh hand curled protectively over her hip.

“She is,” Bucky says, voice barely a whisper.

“She looks like you,” comments Steve. He remembers Bucky at five-years-old with unruly hair and a gap-toothed smile. The girl shares his features, and is the spitting image of his sisters and mother. Bucky doesn’t reply. Steve isn’t sure what—or whom—he remembers. While Steve can clearly picture the smiling faces of Becca and Kim, can still hear their laughter ringing in his ears, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he shifts a fraction of an inch closer to Bucky and asks, “What’s her name?”

“Nadia.” Bucky steals an almost shy glance at Steve and ducks his head. “It means ‘hope’.” He swallows thickly. “They—they gave her a serial number, but never a name. I had to—I thought—” Bucky sucks a sharp breath in. His expression darkens and his gaze grows distant. Steve lays hand on Bucky’s thigh. He isn’t certain what is allowed or expected, but Bucky doesn’t deflect the touch.

“It’s perfect,” says Steve.

Bucky’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, and when he opens them that small, half-smile is back. He lays his hand over top Steve’s.

*

The next day is Saturday, and Saturday means waffles.

“She loves waffles,” Bucky explains, standing in the kitchen in loose sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

Steve is seated at the table with a mug of coffee. It’s just past seven. Bucky busies himself by gathering the ingredients for waffles. He tries to ignore the buzzing in the back of his brain, the worry that keeps fighting its way up from the pit of his stomach. He wonders if he’d made the right decision in inviting Steve to visit. What if it’s too soon? What if Steve recognizes what a mess Bucky is and turns him over, turns Nadia over—to whom he doesn’t know, but the thought of being ripped from this life he’s started to build is enough to make him panic. Bile rises in the back of his throat and he grips the counter, knuckles on his flesh hand turning white.

“Buck?” Steve is at his side. His voice is uncertain.

“I’m fine.” He swallows and keeps his gaze steady on the counter. Steve’s hand finds his lower back. “She loves waffles,” Bucky repeats, each word exiting his tongue with more force than necessary. “I want to make her waffles.”

“Let’s make waffles,” Steve says. He begins to open cabinets, searching for the items they still need.

They make waffles.

Together, they prepare the mix and pour it into the iron. A neat stack is ready, still steaming on a plate by the time Bucky hears the creak of a door followed by a sniffle. Footsteps pad lightly down the hall and Nadia appears in the kitchen, still holding her Captain America bear. It was the first thing Bucky bought for her when they’d arrived in the States. He’d found it in an airport gift shop, the red, white, and blue uniform just as ridiculous as the first time he’d seen it on the man himself. The hazy memory of Steve standing over him, pulling him from the table drifts through his mind. ( _”I thought you were smaller.”_ ) He watches it pass and snaps back to the present.

“Daddy.” Nadia’s voice is thick with sleep and her hair is knotted. She walks over to Bucky while keeping a careful eye trained on Steve. Her arms wrap around Bucky’s thigh and she asks, “Who’s he?” Bucky leans down and picks her up. She’s a light weight in his arms and he holds her to his chest. She looks down and toys with the metal fingers on his left hand. "Daddy, your glove," she whispers in his ear. She knows his arm is very special and not to be seen by just anyone.

“It's okay. He can see. He’s my friend,” he tells her. “His name is Steve.”

“Is he nice?” She leans back and narrows her gaze. Because she knows some people are not nice. That some people are bad and might want to take her away.

“The nicest person ever,” Bucky says. His voice is quiet and he sees Steve draw a breath in.

“Ever?” Asks Nadia.

“Ever,” confirms Bucky. He rubs his nose against her rosy cheek and she considers this information for a moment before wiggling in his hold, a sign she wants to get down. He sets her on the floor and she walks to the table.

“He can have waffles, then,” she decides. She climbs onto a chair and sets her Captain America bear on the seat beside her. "Cap would like waffles too," she says and gives the stuffed bear's helmet a light pat. Bucky smiles, and when he looks at Steve, he’s smiling too.

*

“She’s smart,” Steve observes.

“She is.” Bucky sits beside him on the sofa. Nadia is on the floor, putting together a puzzle. She’s dressed in purple overalls and a pink t-shirt. Outside the leaves have started to change color and there’s a chill in the late-September air. Steve’s been with Bucky and Nadia for two weeks.

“Did they—teach her?” He isn’t sure how to phrase the question. He’s never sure how to broach the topic of Nadia’s past, but his curiosity often gets the best of him. Next to him, Bucky shifts.

“They did.” He keeps his voice low and Nadia doesn’t look up. “I have her file. A lot of it is blacked out, but she—they had her in an accelerated learning program, under constant observation. She was with other kids. Ones they were—training, I guess. I’ve got her in kindergarten now, but her teacher called me the first week to comment on how advanced she is. She wanted to know what pre-school she’d gone to.” He pauses to snort a bitter laugh and shake his head. “I don’t know what they wanted from her. She’s perfect, but she must not have given them the results they were looking for. Otherwise they wouldn’t have—” he stops, unable to finish the thought.

_Froze her_ , Steve thinks. _Put her into cryo and forgotten about her_. It’s horrifying. What they did to Bucky, what they did to the child they created using his DNA—there aren’t words to adequately describe how awful it is. Steve balls his hands into tight fists. He’d gotten his revenge, as had Bucky. The final head of HYDRA has been cut off, yet the anger is still there. It might always be. And Steve imagines what he feels can’t be half as potent as what Bucky does.

Reaching out, Steve pulls Bucky close. Bucky’s body sags against his. He rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. He smells faintly of soap and roasted coffee. They remain like this until Nadia crawls onto Bucky’s lap and requests dinner. It’s a welcome distraction and the weight of their earlier conversation seems to melt from Bucky’s face and limbs.

“Of course,” he tells her.

They go out for pizza.

*

His name is Bradley Buchanan. He’s a twenty-nine-year-old veteran who served three tours in Iraq. He was a resident of New York State all his life. It's where his daughter, Nadia Buchanan, was born. Seven months ago they moved to Silverdell, Minnesota. They rent a house. Nadia attends kindergarten at Silverdell Elementary and Bradley works for an auto body shop and does odd jobs around town. He’s quiet, but likable. Nadia is bright and lovable. They’re the perfect family.

(He found her in an abandoned HYDRA base just outside Moscow, in a cryo-tube. They left her like she was another piece of equipment. He remembered her. Remembered her face. _”We’ve created a new specimen. A child. She is the offspring of our asset and with hope she will be our greatest success yet.”_ He remembers staring. _”Mine?”_ He’d asked, his eyes on the tiny child. He’d been beaten and wiped, but a fragment of the memory remains. How dare he imagine something as his.)

*

It’s early October and Nadia says the kids at school have been talking about a pumpkin patch.

They take her on the weekend. Side-by-side they stroll through the parking lot. Bucky has a soft, grey hoodie and gloves on. His hair is pulled back in a messy bun. Steve wears jeans and a sweatshirt, a Minnesota Gophers cap pulled low over his eyes. He’s been with them just over a month. His visit doesn’t have a time frame. He hasn’t found a reason to leave yet, and Bucky hasn’t shown any sign of wanting him to.

Nadia hops along a few steps ahead, her Captain America bear tucked firmly against her side. She’s brimming with excitement.

“There’s a maze!” She shouts, pointing. Her bear tumbles to the ground and Bucky dips down to pick it up.

“A corn maze,” he tells her. “And there are hayrides and we can pick some pumpkins from the field.” She looks at Bucky with wide eyes and jumps up and down a little before sprinting ahead. “Slow down,” he hollers, and she does. Bucky shakes his head and glances at Steve. He starts to say something, but they’re interrupted by a woman with blonde hair, who’s pulling a wagon full of pumpkins. She has two small girls with her—twins, who seem to know Nadia since she stops to say hi and marvel at the pumpkins.

“Bradley,” the woman greets Bucky warmly. Her eyes flick to Steve. “And you are Bradley’s guest,” she observes.

“Steven Grant,” he says, extending a hand. (He’d wanted to come up with a different name but Bucky had rolled his eyes at him. _“You’ve got one of the most recognizable faces in history, punk. If they figure it out, they figure it out.”_ ) He receives curious gazes occasionally, a look that says they can’t quite place him. Silverdell is a small town. Gossip forms easily but so far all he’s picked up on are the rumblings that he and Bucky are a couple. (Which—no, they aren’t. Not that he’d mind but—well. Now isn't the time to think about that.)

“Claire Halverson.” They shake hands firmly. She explains, “I volunteer at Nadia’s school. My two girls—Brooke and Meghan—they’re in her class. Nadia’s talked about you. Shown us some of the pictures you’ve drawn her. You’re quite the artist.”

Steve scratches at his neck and shrugs. “It’s a hobby,” he says. He can feel Bucky smiling at him.

"He's the best," he chimes in. Claire's eyes flick to Bucky and she smiles.

“He really is," she confirms. "My husband and I own a coffee shop in town. We’ve been looking for somebody to do a few themed window paintings for fall and winter. If you’re interested, you could come by. Show us some of your other work.” She pauses and looks to Bucky. “Bradley here is something of an enigma.” Her tone is teasing. “Who better to sneak some information out of than his…” she trails off, either unsure how to finish that sentence or fishing for information.

“I’ve been his best friend since he was a kid,” Steve supplies, flashing a quick smile in Bucky’s direction. “And I’d love to help. I'll get some stuff together and can swing by this week.”

They exchange information and are on their way a couple of minutes later.

*

Steve takes Nadia shopping for her Halloween costume.

Bucky uses the time to clean the house and run a few errands. As he’s dropping a handful of bills into the mailbox, he realizes that this time last year he was trekking across the continent. He’d been trailing ahead of Steve and he'd hardly had a name, let alone an identity. He's still a little shaky on that. He isn't the man he was in the 40s, not entirely. He never will be. There are pieces of himself that he remembers though, and he's slotted them alongside the new parts. Slowly but surely, he's becoming whole. He has a new life and a daughter. It's more than he could have ever hoped for.

When Steve arrives back an hour later with Nadia, she runs into the house carrying a plastic bag. "Daddy! We bought you something!" She yells.

"What'd you get me?" Asks Bucky. He lowers himself onto his haunches so he's at her level. She holds out the bag and grins. He peeks inside and sees a costume. A prince's costume, complete with gold piping and shoulder pads. "This is for me?" He asks.

"I am going to be a princess and you are going to be my prince." She pats his cheek with her little hand and then kisses his nose. "It even has gloves!" She points at the cover and it sure does. White gloves. He's explained the purpose of the gloves. That some people might not understand his (incredibly advanced, bionetic) arm. (It's different and different is bad, especially when the arm also featured heavily on the news. He doesn't want comparisons drawn. He worked carefully at falsifying their histories and doesn't need a piece of soviet tech ruining everything.)

He rakes a hand through his hair and looks up at Steve, who has wandered into the room. His hands are in his pockets and he rocks back on his heels, trying (and failing) to look innocent.

"I'm going to be a prince?" He stares at Steve, who bites back a grin.

"She said I can be her loyal servant," Steve replies, as if it's a consolation.

"Should have made you my loyal steed," Bucky says, standing back up. Steve just smirks at him. Nadia is tugging at Bucky's hand, trying to pull him down the hallway.

"Daddy, come. You need to see my costume. You can try yours on, too!"

With a shake of the head, he allows her to drag him down the hall to her bedroom.

On Halloween he takes her trick-or-treating. He wears the costume and gets more than his share of appreciative looks from the mothers they pass, who call them every variation of _precious_. At home, Steve takes about a dozen photos of the two of them, and then one of all three of them. That one Bucky frames and sets on the mantel.

*

Steve is seated on the sofa, working out a design for a Thanksgiving window display. He’s been doing a new design every couple of weeks. The town seems to love them and he’s gotten other commissions since, requests for murals and doodles for a local magazine.

Bucky had left shortly after bringing Nadia home from school. He's down the road, helping a neighbor with their car. He'll be back later. Nadia is at the kitchen table, drawing with the markers Steve bought for her.

A few more minutes of silence pass before he hears her get up. A couple of seconds later she walks around front of the sofa. She's got her bear Cap, who she sets next to Steve. "Hi," Steve says as he sets his sketchbook off to the side. It's an invitation for her to sit in his lap, which she immediately does. Her hair is tied in a messy bun similar to how Bucky wears his. Her hands are covered in flecks of marker. Blue, pink, purple. She climbs up. Folds herself atop his thighs and loops her arms around his neck.

"We're going to have an assembly tomorrow for Veteran’s Day," she tells him. She fixes her face in something that Steve assumes is a very serious expression. "Today Miss Isaacs showed us a video and did you know that you look _just like_ Captain America?"

He raises his brow. "Is that so?" He tries not to smirk.

"You do." She tilts her head and studies him. "Are you a veteran?" She asks.

"I am," he confirms.

"Daddy's a veteran too. Miss Isaacs wants me to ask him if he’d come talk to our class." Nadia looks away, her small mouth folding into a frown.

Steve asks, "Are you going to?"

She shakes her head. "He doesn't like war. He gets sad when he talks about it. I don't like it when he's sad."

“You dad is very brave,” Steve tells her. “The best guy I know, but some very bad things happened to him. He’s still healing.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “He says I make him happy. He makes me happy, too. I remember being very cold, and he made me warm. I want to make him warm.”

Steve stares at her for a long moment, amazed by how perceptive she is. From what Bucky's told him, she doesn't remember much from before cryo. Fragments of being in a classroom with other children, of being told she wasn't doing certain things correctly. She has nightmares sometimes. Steve's told Bucky he knows people who could help. People she could talk to. The conversation had ended abruptly with Bucky closing off and turning away. He's worried, Steve knows. Terrified someone will take her away, and that he'll be sent away. (A week later Steve had found print-offs hidden in a desk drawer. They were for pediatric and adolescent psychiatrists in Minneapolis. It's a start.)

Steve wraps his arms around Nadia’s slight frame and pulls her tight against his chest. He breathes in the scent of apple shampoo that lingers in her hair and places a kiss against the dark strands.

"You do, sweetheart," he says. She doesn't know how much she's helped Bucky. He wouldn't be doing nearly as well as he is without her. "You make him so warm."

*

It's past eleven by the time Bucky gets home.

He'd spent the night helping Duke Warner with his car, his snowmobile, and had helped him hook a plow onto his four-wheeler because "the first snow's right around the corner". The thought of snow, of the cold makes Bucky shudder. He'll have to deal.

He heads out to the shed and throws a couple of logs into the stove. Mid-July he'd gotten a few trees from Clive Anderson's farm up the hill, and had spent a couple of days (actually, hours) chopping them. Clive had come by and remarked how quickly he'd gotten it done. He'd asked if he'd gotten help. With his arm hidden beneath a long flannel sleeve and a work glove, Bucky had said he was just that good. The trees had been enough to stock the shed and he hopes it'll get them through the winter. The temperature's beginning to drop and he knows by morning the stove will be empty save for a few shimmering embers.

The house is dark when he gets inside. He locks up, and goes to check on Nadia. She's fast asleep, bathed in the glow of her nightlight. He tucks the covers up over her shoulders and kisses her forehead. She shifts a little, but doesn't wake up.

Down the hall he finds Steve in the spare bedroom, also asleep. The light is still on, like he'd been waiting for Bucky to get home. He's curled on his side, mouth slightly ajar. If Bucky blinks, he can see the Steve in so many of his memories. Small, wiry, and full of fire. Floppy blond hair falling into his eyes and spitting curses that would have made a sailor blush.

Memories are clearer these days. Vivid. He remembers Coney Island. He remembers summers and winters in their tiny apartment.

(He remembers night's spent coughing and wheezing. Bucky's arms around him, holding him to his chest. _"You're okay, Stevie. You're okay. Breathe with me, yeah? C'mon. That's good."_ The wet, hot tears on his cheeks and feeling glad Steve has his back to him. He can't let Steve see him cry. He's supposed to be the strong one. _"I got you. You're doing fine. You're golden. Got some money saved up, wanna see a picture on Friday? They got one of those cartoons you like. It'll be good. Afterwards we can get ice cream. I'll even let you have some of mine, 'cause you always think it looks better than what you got."_ Another hack, followed by a gasp. Steve's entire body shaking and shuddering. Bucky holding him tighter. _"I'm here, Steve. I got you. God damn it, keep breathing. Please."_ )

"Buck?"

His breath hitches and he realizes he'd drifted. Steve is awake, sitting on the edge of the bed. The tears are real. They stain his cheeks and Bucky wipes a hand across his face. He wants to run.

"Bucky." Steve is on his feet. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He pushes a hand through his hair, tugging most of it free from the ponytail. What's he supposed to say? Sometimes things come back to him, and it's like he's there. It's like he's experiencing it for the first time all over again and it can be overwhelming. It's dangerous and stupid and—

Steve's arms are around him, pulling him into a hug. "It's okay," he says, voice a low rumble in Bucky's ear.

"Used to tell you that," he mumbles against Steve's shoulder. "Used to—back, before." Steve only holds him closer. He's a strong, solid weight and god, Bucky remembers when he could lift Steve bodily off the ground. He swallows and whispers, "I thought I was going to lose you so many damn times."

"You didn't," Steve replies. "C'mon." He tugs Bucky towards the bed. Bucky's still dressed from the day in jeans and a sweatshirt and he smells like smoke from the shed, but he lies down anyway. The thought is too inviting and he doesn't want to lose Steve's warmth quite yet. He remembers. He remembers how things had been between them, before the war. He hasn't mentioned it. Isn't sure how to. ( _"Hey, remember how we were practically married? Good times."_ That would be awkward, especially if Steve doesn't want that anymore. He's a little afraid to find out.)

Steve turns the light off and lies down too. Bucky slots himself against his back. He tucks his arms around Steve's middle and they lay like they used to.

It's the best sleep he's had in a long, long time.

*

Steve hasn't slept well since he came out of the ice.

Luckily, his body doesn't need much sleep.

Now, in the dark of the room, he listens to Bucky's breathing even out. Whatever had triggered the outburst earlier has passed. His forehead rests against the nape of Steve's neck and his arms are tucked firmly around his waist. It's familiar. When he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine they're back in their Brooklyn apartment, curled against one another. They'd steal kisses in the safety of the dark, shades drawn over the windows. They'd whisper about what they'd do if they could go around like guys and dames did. ( _They can now_ , Steve thinks absently. _We were born a century too soon_.)

Steve begins to drift off, and with Bucky's warm weight at his back he sleeps better than he has in years.

*

Winter rolls in with thick blankets of snow.

Nadia’s cheeks are permanently rosy and she doesn’t like the cold. None of them like the cold, but they keep the stove stocked and drink hot chocolate. From a lot they buy a Christmas tree. Nadia makes decorations at school, links of construction paper that she drapes across every surface in the house. They string lights out front. Steve climbs up onto the roof while Bucky sits in the snow below, propped against the absurdly large snowman they'd managed to build. Nadia sits in his lap, observing. She has purple snowpants and a blue jacket. By the time Steve climbs back down the ladder, the house is festive and perfect. They bake cookies and build a gingerbread house, with three little gingerbread people standing out front.

"This is us, see?" Nadia explains, kneeling on a chair and pointing. "Me, daddy, and Steve."

"That so?" Asks Bucky, smiling. He smoothes a hand over her hair and she looks up at him.

She says, "Of course. It's our family." His heart stutters a little at that. He casts a nervous glance at Steve, worried of how he'll react to that statement. He expects him to look dumbstruck, but he's smiling warmly. He trails his hand down to Nadia's shoulder and squeezes lightly.

"Suppose it is," he says quietly, but this time he doesn't dare look at Steve.

*

Bucky's got an arm looped around back of the sofa.

His fingers toy with Steve's hair a little. Nadia's in bed and they've got a bottle of whiskey cracked open. Bucky looks loose and comfortable. The whiskey doesn't do a thing for either of them, but maybe it's a placebo affect. Steve takes another sip from his glass and Bucky's fingers continue to comb through the short hairs against his neck.

"You've got a beard," Bucky comments, gazing openly and warmly at him. "I like it," he decides.

"I'm trying it out," Steve says, running a finger along the stubble. "It's different. A little less Captain America."

"Before, you couldn't have grown a beard if you tried," Bucky comments. He draws a breath in, and lets it out. "You don't have to stay, you know." His gaze grows distant and Steve shrugs.

"I'll leave if you want me to."

He worries occasionally that he's overstayed his welcome. He's fallen into a beat with them though, and he has a hard time imagining going back to his semi-empty apartment where he spends his nights alone, watching television or browsing the internet.

"I didn't say _that_. I just mean—you got a team. A world to save. A life that isn't here. I get it."

He understands what Bucky was trying to tell him. "I do have a team," he says slowly. "A team of incredibly talented and perfectly capable individuals who don't need some crotchety old man ordering them around."

"You're the crotchety old man of the team?" Bucky asks, eyes dancing with amusement.

"I've been told on more than one occasion. There are multiple jokes surrounding my khakis and use of the word 'son'."

This gets a laugh out of Bucky. "God. That's great." He wipes an eye.

"And sure, I've helped save the world a few times but—" he stops and shrugs. "Isn't that enough? And when it comes to the having a life part, I don't. Not really. I didn't really have any place to go, so I stayed in DC. I was SHIELD's lapdog. Now, I've got—" He stops, uncertain how to end the sentence. He doesn't want to assume. Clearing his throat, he says, "I really like it here, is what I'm trying to say. I'm happy."

"You are?" There's light in Bucky's eye as he says this. It makes Steve's heart tug.

"I am," he confirms. "Back in DC—it never felt right." He doesn't describe the depression or anger he'd felt. How there were days he'd hardly been able to drag himself out of bed because the world was just _too much_ and yet not enough because there were so many things that had been ripped away from him. He'd only started to pick himself up when he'd found out Bucky was still alive. That had ignited something in him. It'd given him something to strive for—it'd given him hope. Now, he looks around the living room and settles his gaze on Bucky. "This," he says. "This feels right."

"You're only saying that 'cause my kid pulled the family card on you." _My kid_. Hearing that phrase exit Bucky's mouth fills Steve with warmth.

"Maybe," he says. "Or maybe I just love you and your kid." The words are out before he can stop them. He clamps his mouth shut. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean—"

Across from him, Bucky only blinks.

"You going to freak out on me, Rogers?" He asks drolly. "C'mere." His fingers curve around the back of Steve's neck, tugging him closer. Bucky kisses him. It's soft and slow and when he pulls away it's to whisper, "I love you too, punk. Have for eighty years."

Steve pulls him back in for another kiss.

*

"I remember this," Bucky murmurs. He presses a kiss against Steve's shoulder, his neck, his throat. "Kissing you."

"Yeah?" Hums Steve. He threads his fingers through Bucky's hair. Tugs a little.

"I'd come home from the docks and you'd be sitting there with your pretty pink lips and I'd kiss you because you were alive and you were mine. I felt like the luckiest son of a bitch in Brooklyn."

"And how do you feel right now?" Asks Steve.

"Like you're wearing a shirt, and you shouldn't be wearing a shirt," replies Bucky. He pulls at the hem and Steve huffs a laugh. The shirt comes off and Bucky immediately sucks a bruise onto Steve's collarbone. _Mine_ , he thinks absently. He hadn't been allowed to want or have for the better part of seventy years. Now, he can want or have anything he wants. And he wants Steve.

He wants every last inch of him and he'll have it.

*

They go to Nadia’s school pageant.

They’re surrounded by families and Steve catches Bucky peering at them, a curious look on his face that Steve can’t read.

“I remember my sisters,” he admits later that night. Nadia’s on the floor, examining her presents with Cap seated on her knee. She’s allowed to open one tonight and is carefully selecting it. Bucky keeps his voice low as he speaks to Steve. “I remember telling ‘em to piss off when they were bothering me or getting into my stuff. I mean, it’s just flashes here and there but—“ he stops. “Are they—I mean, I know Becca would be in her nineties and Kim in her eighties but—“ he stops again, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve says quietly. “Most of the people we knew—I mean, there are some children or grandchildren but—“ he trails off. It had taken him a while, but eventually he'd looked everyone up—their friends, family. Each obituary hurt as much as he'd expected it to. At the same time though, it was kind of nice. Getting to see the long, fulfilling lives each had gone on to lead.

“I know.” Bucky shakes his head, smiling sadly. “It’s something I could have looked up, but I guess I wasn’t ready. Didn’t want to know I ain’t got a family left.” Then, he tilts his head. His gaze settles on Nadia, and floats back to Steve. “It’s okay, though. We're—we're sort of—" he trails off, unable to finish the though.

"Starting our own family. A new family," Steve supplies. Bucky draws a breath in, clearly happy to not have had to say it. It sounds cheesy, but it's true. "We are," Steve says, reaching out and taking his hand. He squeezes and then leans over to kiss him chastely on the lips.

Kissing is nice. They've been doing a lot of it lately. They haven't gone beyond that, not yet, but maybe soon. In the meantime, they're relearning each other. Bucky kisses differently than he did before. He touches Steve differently. Everything is slower now. Almost tentative. Like he's taking his time and committing everything to memory. He traces a hand down Steve's cheek now. Cups his jaw and draws him closer.

A throat clears and they break apart. Nadia clutching a small, square present.

“I want to open this,” she says. Her gaze flicks curiously between them but she doesn't comment. She's seen them kiss and knows they've been sleeping in the same bed most nights. She isn't oblivious to what's going on. She definitely doesn't have a problem with it and for all they know, she'd assumed they were together since the moment Steve had arrived.

Wordlessly, she climbs up onto the couch and settles onto Bucky's lap. She picks at the wrapping paper and carefully tears it off. Steve knows what it is. He'd been with Bucky when he'd gotten it for her. ( _"Are you sure this isn't stupid?"_ Bucky had asked. _"She's five. She wants dolls and shit. Not—this."_ Steve had told him, _"It's perfect. Even if she doesn't appreciate it now, she will someday."_ )

She pulls back the paper, uncovering a velvet box. She pops it open, and inside is a gold necklace with the Howling Commandos insignia. "Daddy," she whispers, looking from the necklace, to Bucky, and back to the necklace. "This is beautiful and very special." She scrambles up a little, turning towards Bucky. She holds the box out. "Can I wear it?"

"Of course." Bucky removes the necklace from the box, careful with the delicate chain. "And yes, it is _very_ special. It's something that's very important to Steve and I. You know the storybooks I got you? The ones about the Commandos? This is their symbol." Their troop was popular back when they both were alive, but after Steve's 'death' the Commandos became a story passed on from parent to child. They were commemorated in comics, dolls, books and movies. A set of children's books created sits on Nadia's bookshelf. She's also got her Cap bear, which wears Steve's original uniform.

He clasps the necklace around her small neck. 

"I know it is. And I will be very careful with it," she promises. Her fingers trail over the necklace a couple of times and she cranes her neck forward to admire it. Then, she grabs her Cap bear and holds him in front of her. "See, Cap?" She says. "The Howling Commandos." She wiggles a little and hops down from Bucky's lap. "Can we read one of my books?" She asks. Bucky casts a glance at the clock, and Steve can see it's almost her bedtime.

"Suppose we could," Bucky replies. "Gotta get you into bed before Santa comes, huh?" She grins at that and runs off down the hall.

Bucky rises from the couch slowly, picking the wrapping paper off his lap and crumples it into a tight ball. Steve sneaks up behind him. Threads his arms around his waist and kisses his shoulder. "Told you she'd love it," he says. He can feel Bucky rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. You were right." He steps out of Steve's hold and nods toward the hallway. "Wanna read some stories?" He asks.

"Stories about us?" Steve asks, smiling. "Sure thing." He laughs a little as he follows Bucky down the hall. Nadia brushes her teeth, gets into her pajamas, and crawls into bed. Bucky's already seated in the corner, ready for her to pillow her head against his stomach. He wraps one arm around her and holds the book in the other. Steve settles on the edge of the bed, leaning against the headboard.

"Captain Rogers stands with his team," Bucky begins to read. "Dugan, Jones, Morita, Falsworth, Dernier and of course Barnes—Rogers' best friend. Together they are the Howling Commandos, and they are about the face their mightiest mission yet..."

By the end of the book, Nadia's eyes are drooping. She's toying absently with a strand of Bucky's hair, her arm stretched up over her head.

"Daddy," she says, voice heavy with sleep. "Don't you think Steve looks like Captain America?"

"A little," Bucky comments. He shifts the book and Nadia points a finger towards the cover.

"And you're Barnes," she says. "His best friend. You got longer hair, though." Then, her hand falls away. She yawns widely and her eyes close.

Over her, Steve shares a smile with Bucky.

He stands up from the bed and helps Bucky get up. Bucky dips back down to reposition Nadia against her pillows. She wiggles around a little and murmurs a quiet, "Love you, daddy. Love you, Steve." Then snuggles up to her Cap bear and drifts off.

"Think I look like Barnes?" Asks Bucky as he shuts her light off.

"Maybe a little," replies Steve, closing the door behind them.

*

On Christmas morning Nadia opens her presents.

She squeals, delighted by each one. Bucky sits on the sofa, his back against Steve’s chest and their legs tangled together.

“This is nice,” Steve whispers. He kisses Bucky’s jaw and he smiles.

“It is,” Bucky replies.


	2. Six Months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The entire scene is so domestic it hurts

Steve's been missing for six months, four days.

Missing isn't the right word. He's just—well, gone. Not by force, but his own will. A note had been left in his apartment, brief and to the point. It matched the emails that had been sent to a few people. It explained that something had come up and Sam had received a text the following day, telling him not to worry. Steve's phone had been shut off within the hour. While Sam trusts Steve with his life and _wants_ to obey Steve's wishes, he does worry.

Everybody does, even if they don't explicitly voice or show it. He can see it in the way Banner frets over the herb garden he keeps on the roof, or the way Stark twitches a little when yet another sweep comes up with no trace of Steve's whereabouts. "Three weeks ago the guy asked if I could help him download a video off of YouTube," Stark had groused. "A _cat_ video, no less. Why did he need to download a cat video for fuck's sake. Now he's managed to disappear off the grid. What gives."

The only person who doesn't seem concerned is Natasha; then again Sam isn't sure he'll ever get a read on her.

"He's a smart man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself," she'd pointed out. Sam can't argue with that.

What he doesn't say—what nobody says is the likelihood that Steve's disappearance has to do with a certain former soviet assassin. Sam had told Steve to wait. To give Bucky time. Maybe Bucky had finally come back to him. What that actually entails is a mystery. He has no idea what Barnes' mind is like. Last time they'd caught sight of him during their mission to burn HYDRA to the ground, he'd looked better. Less like the Soldier, who's blank stare still haunts Sam.

Still. Who knows what he's like now.

He worries, and wonders what Steve's gotten himself into.

*

From: +17155592532  
 _Hi. How’ve you been?_

The text comes in the early, early hours of a Sunday morning. Sam extracts himself from bed, careful not to disturb Natasha, and looks at his phone with bleary eyes. It's too early. He'd stayed up playing some weird Russian drinking game that involved cards and arrows. Come to think of it, Nat and Barton might have made the game up on the spot just to mess with him. Either way, Sam is pretty sure he lost. Judging by his hangover, he definitely lost. He'll need another couple of hours before he can function.

_Who is this?_ He texts back.

His phone buzzes a second later. _Steve_. Followed by, _If you’ve got some time off coming up, maybe you could visit?_

Oh.

A minute later, he receives an address. He sends off an affirmative text, saying he’d love to visit and the _where the hell have you been?_ goes without saying. Steve suggests the following week, which Sam says works fine.

He tosses his phone off to the side and crawls back into bed. Slipping beneath the covers, he wraps his arms around Natasha. He tells her the news and begins to murmur the string of thoughts rushing through his mind. Everything from, “Six months without a word and then out of the blue, ‘Hey, how are you?’ like it’s no big deal,” to, “What if Barnes is still in Soldier mode? What if Steve’s trying to fix that—”

Natasha slaps a hand firmly over his mouth.

“I get it,” she says, voice low. She turns in his hold so she can look him in the eye. “You’ve missed him and you’ve been worried about him and now you’ve got about ten thousand questions bumbling around that head of yours. For the record, I think everything is fine. I don’t think Steve’s in any sort of danger. What I do think is that you should go back to sleep because it’s way too early for this.” She gives him a hard look and releases her hand from his mouth.

“Right as always, babe,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to her shoulder.

“Call me babe again and I’ll break your fingers, _sugar pie_ ,” she replies dryly.

He chuckles a little and rolls onto his back. Gradually, he drifts back to sleep while his mind continues to buzz.

*

He isn't sure where he'd expected to find Steve, but it definitely hadn’t been in middle of nowhere Minnesota.

Sam arrives at the airport and walks outside. The March weather is cold. His breath puffs in front of him and he buries his hands in his pockets. Three minutes later, Steve pulls up in a beat-up car. Sam climbs inside, and is thankful to find the heat cranked to sauna levels. He takes a moment to study Steve, who is not only alive but looks well. Better than ever, really. He's got a beard, which oddly suits him, and there's light in his eye. Something that's been absent for god knows how long.

"What the hell," is all Sam says.

Steve's face brightens into a smile. "Glad to see you too," he says. Sam rolls his eyes and pulls Steve into a hug.

They drive twenty miles north to the small town of Silverdell. The populations sign reads just over 1,500 and it's, "small, but nice," according to Steve.

"Thought you were a city boy," Sam comments. He’s mildly surprised by the sprawling fields and farms they pass. Steve ducks his head a little and shrugs.

"Maybe not," is his reply, which is vague enough to make Sam raise an eyebrow.

They pull up in front of a small, single story home. A neat row of hedges line the sidewalk and smoke puffs from a wood shed out back. Steve leads him inside. It's comfortable, with dark woods and worn furniture that looks secondhand. "What have you been up to, anyway?" Asks Sam, taking a seat on the sofa. There's a quilt draped across the back. It looks like something Sam's grandmother might have made and given him for Christmas. He can't help but think Steve just _liked_ it and bought it. "I gotta say I didn't expect to find you playing house on your own."

Steve starts to say something, but stops. He wets his lips and shrugs.

"It's complicated," he says. "Coffee?"

"Please," Sam replies because he's got a feeling there isn't enough caffeine in the world.

Steve heads into the kitchen and returns a minute later with a pair of mugs. He hands one to Sam, and sets his own on the table. He begins to sit down in a chair when the rumble of an engine startles both of them. Steve's eyes widen and he glances at the clock.

"Expecting company?" Asks Sam. Steve chews worriedly at his lower lip.

"Didn't realize how later it'd gotten," he says. Before he can say another word, the front door bangs open. In rushes Bucky Barnes, with bright eyes and looking a lot less murder-y than the last time Sam had seen him up close.

"Beat you!" Barnes crows. Sam casts a questioning look at Steve, and then looks back to Barnes. Suddenly, a small body crashes into the backs of Barnes' legs.

"Not fair!" A voice squeals. "You cheated! You're bigger." It's a little girl. Maybe five years old and giggling with a gloved hand pressed over her mouth. She peers up at Barnes with laughing eyes, and then suddenly turns to the room. "Steve!" She shouts. "Daddy told me if I beat him—oh." She stops when she sees Sam. She shrinks back and wraps and arm around Barnes' leg. "Daddy," she whispers, sounding concerned. She presses a cheek against the hem of Barnes' jacket.

"This is my friend," Steve says, taking a slow step toward her. "Remember? We told you he was going to visit. His name is Sam." He gestures in Sam's direction and Sam smiles at her gently. "He's good," Steve tells her.

"Wilson," Barnes says, giving Sam a nod.

"Barnes," Sam replies. "You look good." Barnes runs a hand through his hair. It's longer and pulled mostly into a messy bun. Unlike Steve, he's clean shaven. He looks younger and more aware. He looks—stable. Basically, a hell of a lot better than Sam had expected.

Barnes looks away. He shifts his gaze to Steve tells him, “I drove Marcie over, if you’re done with the car?” Nodding, Steve pulls the keys from his pocket and tosses them to Barnes. The car Steve drove him in must have been borrowed. He must share a vehicle with Barnes. Too much information has been thrown at him at once and Sam feels a little dizzy. Barnes turns on a heel and tells the girl, "be right back," before ducking out the door.

Of the many, many scenarios Sam had imagined, he would have never thought he’d find Steve playing suburban husband to Barnes and some kid.

Christ.

Sam feels eyes on him. Looking up, he sees the girl studying him. She looks away when he catches her staring.

Steve walks over to her. He dips down and kisses the top of her head. "How was school?" Sam hears him ask. She mumbles a reply and then Barnes is back. He scoops the girl up into his arms, gives Steve a look, and then carries her out of the room. As he leaves, Sam swears he hears the girl whisper, "Daddy, that's _Falcon_." But he might be mistaken. Maybe. "And he called you Barnes! He thinks you look like him. Bet he thinks Steve looks like Cap," he can hear her say from the kitchen. He hears Barnes ask what she'd like for a snack. 

Steve shuffles back and forth a little, hands dug deep in his pockets.

"So." Sam turns to him.

"Like I said, Steve says."Complicated."

*

Dinner is chicken casserole and steamed vegetables.

Barnes is quiet throughout, keeping his gaze pointed away from Sam's. Steve makes idle conversation. Asks about the team, about the VA. The little girl's name is Nadia, Sam learns. She asks Sam a rather barbed question about his opinion on flying, and which methods are preferable. Barnes shushes her quietly, tells her that Sam's a guest and not to be nosy.

Afterwards, Barnes helps her with homework. He leans into the table and Sam notices that he's wearing gloves. He’s been wearing them the entire time, which is just weird because Sam knows what he's got under the left one. He doesn’t comment, though. Instead, he continues to catch up with Steve while Barnes helps Nadia add, subtract, and has her complete sentences.

"I have _blank_ hair," Barnes tells her, pointing to the workbook page. "What kind of hair do you have?" He asks.

"Pretty," Nadia says, writing the word carefully, spelling it aloud as she fills in the blank. "I have pretty hair, and you have _very_ pretty hair, daddy." She leans up to tuck a few strands of Barnes' hair behind his ear. "Steve also has pretty hair." She pauses and looks at Sam. "You do too," she decides.

"I think they were looking for a color of hair, but pretty works. I guess." Barnes shakes his head. "You missed a 't', honey." He points at the paper and Nadia hums a little, correcting the mistake. Steve smiles at the pair.

"You do have pretty hair," Steve comments, eyes trained on Barnes.

Barnes rolls his eyes and with a hand behind Nadia's back, he flips Steve off. Some of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders the entire night drops.

The entire scene is so domestic it hurts.

*

Sam walks around the living room.

He isn't snooping—well, maybe he is. A little. On the mantel he sees a framed photo. It's of Steve, Barnes, and Nadia. She's dressed as a princess and Barnes as a prince, by the look of it. They're smiling. It feels like a private moment, and something Sam shouldn't be prying on.

He looks away just as Steve walks back into the room. He gestures to the sofa and they take a seat. Down the hall he can hear water running. Nadia's in bed and Barnes is in the shower.

"Nice place," Sam comments, breaking the silence. 

"Bucky rents," Steve replies. "Most of the furniture came with it, I think." he shrugs. They aren't here to talk about the house. 

"So." Sam levels Steve with a look. Steve takes a breath. 

“She’s Bucky’s daughter,” he says after a long moment.

“Really?” Asks Sam. He can see it, though. The resemblance between Barnes and the girl. They share bright, blue eyes and dark hair. A small, cleft chin and she’s even got Barnes’ sardonic humor down pat.

“Biologically speaking, I mean,” Steve replies. “She was conceived as some sort of—I don’t know, fucked up experiment to see what his offspring are capable of. She’s brilliant, but maybe she wasn’t strong enough. Something must not have been right because they stuck her into cryo. They forgot about her.” Steve sucks a sharp breath in and keeps his head down.

Sam lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He rubs at it a little, but honestly has no idea what to do. His years at the VA couldn’t have prepared him for the shit storm that is Steve Rogers’ life. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, his best, long-thought dead, brainwashed buddy pops up with a kid who’s probably endured enough trauma to fill dozens of textbooks.

“Shit,” he mumbles.

“Bucky found her in a facility outside Moscow,” Steve explains. “Still in cryo. He saved her.”

“Is she—does she—I mean, she seems pretty well-adjusted. I know looks can be deceiving but…”

“I think Bucky’s been taking her to talk to somebody in the city. I don't know what she's said, but they're both still here so she must not have breached national security quite yet." A hint of a smirk touches the corner of his mouth. "Buck hasn’t mentioned it, and I don’t want to pry, but they disappear twice a month and Nadia’s told me about some ice cream parlor in Minneapolis so…” he turns his palms up and Sam nods.

“That’s good,” he says. “Real good. You know, I could always have—”

Steve shakes his head and cuts him off. “He doesn’t want anybody with ties to SHIELD or otherwise around her. He’s afraid, I think.”

“No, that makes sense.” Sam nods. “How are you holding up?” He asks, because the last thing Steve ever takes time to worry about is his own self. “This must have been a lot to digest.”

“It was,” he admits. He brings his hands together and wrings them in his lap. “But—things are good. I’m helping out, y’know?”

"Looks like you're more than helping," Sam comments. "You seem pretty damn at home here."

Steve chews at his lips a little. After a long moment, he looks at Sam and says, “Bucky always wanted kids.” He isn’t really looking at Sam, though. He’s lost in a memory set decades back. “He helped raise his sisters and would tell me what a great dad he was going to be someday.” His gaze grows distant, and Sam is reminded of how much they’ve lost. This is a second chance, he supposes. A shot at things never thought possible. “Now, he’s got—he’s—”

“He is a good dad,” Sam says. Steve drops his head and nods.

“He is,” he agrees, and when he looks back up his eyes are shining.

*

“Are you going to come to my birthday party?” Nadia asks the following morning. They’re seated at the kitchen table. Barnes is at the stove, scrambling eggs. Steve is getting ready for a run Sam had agreed to accompany him on.

“When’s your birthday?” Sam asks.

He’s a little surprised when she says, “Saturday.” He doesn’t have a return flight yet. He hadn’t been sure what he was in for. He’s got sessions and groups that were reassigned for the week, but if it’s on Saturday he supposes he could still be back by Monday.

“We are going to have cake _and_ ice cream,” she explains, vibrating with excitement.

“We didn’t have a party last year,” Barnes says quietly, setting a plate in front of Nadia. "We were still... adjusting." She doesn’t seem to hear him and digs into her eggs. Sam realizes the words were directed at him. He looks up when Barnes speaks again. “We’re going to go bowling, I think. Steve's rented a couple of lanes. You’re welcome to come.” He fidgets a little, tugging at his shirt sleeve. His eyes dart anywhere Sam’s aren’t.

“I’d like that,” Sam replies. “Count me in.”

Barnes finally looks at him. He gives Sam the hint of a smile and returns to the stove to clean up.

“How old are you going to be?” Sam asks, turning his attention back to Nadia.

“Six.” She holds six fingers up. “I’m getting very big.” Sam wonders how old she really is, what her birth year is. It isn't something he wants to ask Barnes, but he might be able to bring it up to Steve later.

"You are," Sam agrees. He notices that the necklace she's wearing—the small glint of gold against the hollow of her throat is the Hollowing Commandos insignia. He says, “I like your necklace, by the way.”

She brings a finger up to graze the chain. “Thank you,” she says. “It’s very special.” She continues to eat her breakfast.

“Can I show you something?” Sam asks. From his pocket he pulls his wallet. Inside, he takes out a card. It’s something he’s carried around since he was a kid. It's an official membership card that states he’s an honorary member of the Howling Commandos. He probably got it off the back of a cereal box or something, but he’s glad he kept it. He explains what it means and Nadia's eyes grow wide. She pushes her mostly empty plate aside and reaches out, but doesn’t touch.

“Wow,” she says. “Daddy, can I get one?”

Barnes walks over and glances at Sam’s card. Warmth floods his eyes.

"I don't know if they make those anymore, honey," he says. "Maybe we can make you an honorary members of The Avengers or something." He picks up her breakfast plate.

This seems to satisfy her. “I love The Avengers,” she tells Sam. “Not as much as I love the Howling Commandos, but Captain America was in both and I love Captain America.” She pauses, and gives Sam a _look_. “I also love Falcon,” she adds in a whisper. A chuckle rises in his chest, but he manages to suppress it. He can see Barnes rolling his eyes at the stove.

Nadia hops off her chair and puts her backpack on just as Steve comes into the room. He’s dressed in running gear and leans down to fix the bow in Nadia’s hair. “Are you going to be good today?” He asks her.

“Of course,” she replies with a huff.

Barnes shrugs into a jacket and grabs a set of keys from the counter. “I’ll be at the shop all day. Got a few appointments,” he tells Steve. He leans in and brushes his lips across Steve’s cheek. Steve’s blushing as he pulls away, and he casts an almost shy glance Sam’s way.

“See you tonight,” he tells Barnes quietly. He leans in and ghosts a kiss across Barnes’ lips. Sam’s brow lifts, but not nearly as much as it would have if he hadn’t at least suspected. It’s a three bedroom house and Sam’s in the guest room. He hadn’t seen Steve or Barnes on the couch so he did the math. Plus, the way Steve _looks_ at the guy pretty much says it all.

Barnes leaves with Nadia moment later, and Sam smiles at Steve.

“So, you and Barnes,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “You two a thing now?”

Steve ducks his head. He sits down on a chair to put his shoes on.

“Have always been a thing,” he admits quietly. “Since back before the war. It wasn’t legal though, and when Bucky came back—I wasn’t sure if he wanted, if he _remembered_ …” he trails off.

“Seems like he remembers,” Sam says.

“Sure does,” Steve replies, smiling to himself. He rubs at the back of his neck, red from the chest up.

Sam walks over and slaps a hand on his shoulder. “Good for you, man. Nat and I have wondered if you were getting any.”

“You talk about my sex life with Nat?” He asks, looking mildly mortified as he stands from the chair. 

“Nat talks about everybody’s sex life,” replies Sam with a shrug. Because technically she does, though Steve’s happens to be a favorite of hers. There may or may not have been bets placed on the state of his virginity. Sam might have to change his wager before this new information gets out.

Steve groans and Sam knocks his hip into his, grinning. They head out the door.

*

At the end of their run, they stop off in town for coffee.

There’s a painting in the window that looks vaguely familiar and Sam can’t place why. Something about the curve of the blossoming flowers and or the lettering that says spring is around the corner.

The woman in the shop greets Steve warmly and he introduces her to Sam. He orders a couple of coffees to go along with a few of the muffins from the case. Piece by piece Sam is beginning to see the life Steve has started to carve for himself. He already has a place in this town and he just seems to _fit_. Part of Sam has been wondering when Steve will come back to DC, but now—that probably isn’t going to happen, he can see.

They walk back to the house, coffees cooling in their hands.

“Nadia’s birthday is Saturday, if you want to come,” Steve says as they walk.

“Yeah, she told me. Barnes said I was welcome,” Sam replies. “I’ll probably make an appearance. I hear there will be cake _and_ ice cream.”

Steve chuckles. "Yeah. She's really excited. Last year they were still figuring things out, so Buck wants to go all out this year." 

"Is he okay with me being here?" Sam asks. "He doesn't exactly seem comfortable with it. Or is that just—how he is?”

Steve’s brow creases. “What? No. When I asked if I could have you visit he said it was a good idea. He—well, he gets a little caught up in his head sometimes. I’ll talk to him. See what’s up.”

Sam nods. “Okay.”

He takes a sip of his coffee and then shifts the topic elsewhere. He'd managed to place why the painting at the cafe was familiar. Nadia had shown Sam Steve's sketchbooks, and he'd seen a rough rendering of the display. He says, “At the coffee shop, the—rather amazing, by the way—painting in the window? That was you, yeah?”

Steve gets quiet in the way he does whenever someone tosses him a compliment. Like he doesn't know how to process it. "Yeah," he admits. "It is. I've gotten commissions around town. Buck thinks I should give lessons or something. I don't know." He shrugs but Sam can see he's smiling a little. 

“That’s great, man.” Because it really is. He remembers asking Steve all that time ago, right after they’d met, what makes him happy. He remembers the genuinely confused look that had crossed his face.

It looks like he’s finally figured it out.

*

As Sam gets ready for bed that night, Barnes appears in the doorway. He’s dressed for sleep in soft pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He’s still got the gloves on.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says, out of the blue. Sam stares at him.

“Okay?” He asks. “For what?”

“For—DC. The hellicarrier. I broke your wings, I—” He stops and shakes his head. “Not the best first impression.”

“Dude, is that why you've been so quiet?"

Barnes shrugs and studies the carpet.

"Well, that wasn't you," Sam explains. "I know that, and I wouldn't have helped Steve try to find you if I'd thought it was. The things they did to you—if I've got any anger, it's towards HYDRA. They're the ones at fault, which is why I was more than happy to help you two take them down."

Barnes makes a noise in the back of his throat. "Thanks for that," he says. "But still—I remember doing those things. I know I was following orders and was under their control but—" he trails off. "I just wanted to apologize."

“Water under the bridge, man,” Sam says, smiling. He sees Barnes draw a breath in and relax ever so slightly. “How’s the arm?” He asks.

Looking down, Barnes shrugs. He tugs the glove off. “Still metal,” he says, wiggling his fingers a little. Light dances off the surface. “Thought you might be uncomfortable seeing it. Sort of like carrying a loaded gun around the house or something, y’know? Not that best thing to tout around company.” He shrugs again.

“It’s part of you,” Sam tells him. “And I don’t think you’ve used it as a weapon in a long time.”

“Chopped some wood the other day,” Barnes replies. “Comes in handy for that.”

“Bet it does,” says Sam, laughing a little.

*

Nadia’s birthday party is, as promised, at the bowling alley. And there's cake and _two_ kinds of ice cream.

A couple of kids from her class run around the area and Sam sits back, watching Barnes help Nadia roll the ball while Steve putters back and forth, re-tying kids shoes or finding lighter balls for them. Sam texts Natasha a couple of times, tells her what’s going on, and in truth he isn’t that surprised when she appears next to him. She could have dropped from the ceiling and he wouldn’t have been surprised (because that's something that has happened—on more than one occasion).

“This place is awful,” she comments. Her hair falls in soft curls to her shoulders. She’s got black leggings and black combat boots on, but wears one of Sam's flannel shirts over top. She leans against the side of Sam’s chair.

“Steve picked it out,” Sam replies.

She huffs. “Of course he did.”

“Where the hell did you come from, anyway?” He asks.

With a shrug, she says, “I was in the area.” And he knows she wasn’t but whatever. He shakes his head.

“Birthday party,” he explains, gesturing to the scene. “For Barnes’ _kid_. Well, I guess she's Barnes _and_ Steve's kid at this point.”

She hums a little, and observes silently. After a minute, Nadia runs over. She peers up at Natasha and a wide grin crosses her face.

“Did you come for my party?” She asks.

“Of course, pumpkin,” Natasha replies, sounding downright _affectionate_. She extends a neatly wrapped gift Sam hadn’t even seen her holding and Nadia eagerly grabs it. “Happy birthday,” Natasha tells her.

“Thank you,” she says, and then she turns back to the lanes. “Daddy!” Tasha got me a present!” She runs off.

Sam isn't sure how to react. He settles for a simple, “You’ve been here before,” because it’s obvious she has. Natasha takes a seat beside him. She crosses one leg over the other. “I’ve been searching for him for months and you’ve known where he was all along.”

“I might have dropped in. I mean, these two raising a kid? I had to make sure they weren’t dressing her in khaki and Kevlar.” Sam almost laughs at that, and he sees Natasha eyeing him. “I wanted him to contact you on his own,” she says. Which, okay, he can’t blame her for that. “He’s happy, isn’t he?” She asks, turning her gaze back to the lanes. “Both of them are.” There’s warmth in her eyes as she says this.

“They are,” Sam agrees. “He isn’t coming back, is he.”

“Might be something worth asking him,” Natasha replies. “But in my opinion? No.”

“Guess the world will have to deal without Captain America.”

Natasha makes a noise in the back of her throat. “Maybe,” she says. Then, she casts a glance at him from the side. “But for the record, I think you’d look damn fine in that suit.” She lifts a careful eyebrow as she says this and Sam doesn’t even have time to sputter before she’s on her feet. “Rent us some shoes, we need to join this party,” she says. She gives his arm an affectionate squeeze before removing her boots and striding down to the lanes. She grabs Steve from behind and plants a wet kiss on his cheek. Barnes comes over and greets her.

Sam stands back, watching them for a moment.

“I would look good in that suit,” he mutters to himself, and smiles as he walks to the rentals counter.


End file.
